


And I Wonder if I Ever Cross Your Mind

by joytothegirls



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joytothegirls/pseuds/joytothegirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They need each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Wonder if I Ever Cross Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> REAL PERSON FIC! You have been warned. No disrespect is meant to those involved, I’m just giving in to little ideas that pop into my head.
> 
> This is definitely the result of “Need You Now” giving me Tatennant feels.

Catherine knew when she came across the box that it would be a bad idea to open it. Opening it would unleash feelings she’d rather keep suppressed and locked away. But seeing as Catherine had recently developed a bad habit of not paying attention to reason, she pulled the box down from its place on the closet shelf and set it on the bed.

She stood there for a moment, staring at it. And it almost felt as if it was staring right back. One deep breath later, and she was lifting the top off and setting it to the side. She began to leaf through the items inside, already regretting the decision to go through it, yet unable to stop herself from continuing.

At some point she must have moved to the floor, because that’s where she finds herself now; the memories of a time too painful to want to remember, but too precious to want to forget scattered around her. 

As she’s looking through a particular series of pictures it hits her. She’s alone. She has no one. Erin is with Twig, and Twig is, well… gone. She has nothing left. And she misses him. She needs him. 

She wonders, does he think about her? At any time during his busy days do memories of her seep through into his perfect life, with his perfect wife and their perfect kids? Because she can’t bear to think that she’s the only one who can’t keep images of their time together from inhabiting her every thought.

She should call him. Yes, that’s what she should do. 

She looks at the clock. It’s 1:15 in the morning. She’s sure he won’t mind her calling this early. They’ve called each other around this time before. He probably never even went to sleep.

No. She had promised herself she wouldn’t call him. Not now. Not ever. 

And there it was again. The pain. The reminder of why she can never call him. The reminder of what they had done. The guilt. Everything she had tried to hide away in the box.

The _fucking box_. She hated it. It represented everything about her that made her despise herself. A reminder of every mistake she had made in the past four years could be found in this box. She had always meant to get rid of it, but something had kept her from letting it go. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Why couldn’t she just let him go?

+

In his hotel room in a town across the country, David pours himself another shot of whiskey. It’s not usually his go-to drink, but it’s all he’s got. He knows he probably shouldn’t be drinking; not when he’s feeling like this. Then again, it’s because he’s feeling like this that he’s drinking. 

He found that keeping himself busy had helped to dull the pain of losing her. And so he took as many jobs as he could get. In fact, the reason he was sitting in a hotel room away from home was the result of one of these jobs. 

It was when he realized exactly where he was that this feeling of doom had crept up on him. They had always talked about coming here. It was one of the things they put on their list of impossible, “normal couple” activities. Why had he not realized sooner that this is where he would be staying? He would have brought more alcohol.

As he sits on the floor, his back against the side of the bed, he can’t get her image from his mind. He remembers the way she used to sweep through his dressing room door before plopping herself onto his couch, tucking her feet underneath her legs and making herself comfortable. He imagines how she’d look coming through the door of his hotel room, how welcome that sight would be to him now. 

He starts to wonder if she thinks of those times, the times when they were together. Does she spend her nights staring at the ceiling, his face taking over her thoughts? Because that’s how his nights are spent, full of images of Catherine and all the times he saw her smile.

_Shit._ He hates this. Why can’t he just forget about her? Why can’t he stop needing her? It’s his wife he should need, not his best friend who he fucked things up with because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

He should call her. He loves her. He needs to tell her. Nothing else matters anymore. 

No. He’s drunk. He shouldn’t call her when he’s drunk. He needs her to take him seriously. He needs to be as sober as possible when he talks to her for the first time in almost a year. Besides, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t call her. He couldn’t call her. He couldn’t bear to break her again.

+

It’s about twenty minutes later, after Catherine has completed her painful exploration of the box, and after David has had significantly more to drink, that they both give in and decide to call each other. They could care less what the consequences will be, because anything would be better than this emptiness, this nothingness. They need each other.

Her mind made up, Catherine reaches for her phone and finds David’s number in her speed dial.

At exactly the same time, across the country, David stumbles to the corded phone in his room and punches in Catherine’s number by heart.

David can feel his heart beating against his chest. Catherine holds her breath.

A series of beeping sounds hit their ears. The lines are busy. They both hang up.


End file.
